


I would give you the Shire

by Bofursunboundbraids, wanderingsmith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, post-botfa everyone lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 13:39:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2152752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you would give me a gift.  I would have a day with you.  Without anyone else allowed to interrupt.  Without talk of our kingdom's concerns or our politics."  For a moment the hobbit's eyes turned inward and smiled at some happy memory, "Food, smoke, sun.  Perhaps a fire.  Nothing but relaxation and the simplest pleasures."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I would give you the Shire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play with 'em.
> 
> Written with [Bofursunboundbraids](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids) while following each other's random thoughts, following the sharing of [this full body shot of young!thorin at the gate](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/wanderingsmith/8437005/47185/47185_original.png), the initial topic being leisure-living dwarf-princes not dressed for combat "Yes he does. Dwarves are rarely idle, but when he is...ooooh he's pretty!".

Though he knew well that his hobbit's idea of a birthday present was one that *he* gave, still Thorin insisted on giving his husband at least one item. A compromise for accepting, with what grace he was capable of, whatever gift was presented to him at the same time as everyone else received theirs. And for agreeing to have both tea and supper as often as their duties permitted.

None of which changed his frustrated pang when he remembered the wistful chagrin Bilbo could never entirely hide whenever Thorin, or others -at least it was not only *he* who failed!-, presented the hobbit with gifts, which, being dwarrows, they naturally made of gold or jewels.

This time, however, Thorin had a plan. 

After the consort had managed to teach his youngest dwarfling her numbers in spite of the lass' seeming inability to understand anything written, Bombur had, instead of the traditional jewelry, offered to teach Bilbo how to make a dwarven dish the hobbit adored. 

And Bilbo had given Erebor's chief of kitchens an unfettered beam of thanks.

Thorin could not cook. Nor had his mate ever spoken of a desire for anything which he *could* create. Therefor, on the morning of the hobbit's birthday, when the king woke, early as usual, he did not rise to train before returning to their suite for a hasty breakfast. Instead, he turned to the sleeping hobbit at his side and watched him as the dwarf waited, forcing himself to patience, refraining from touch so as to not wake him before he chose to awaken. 

The untameable hair, still mostly brown, regardless of the number of birthdays that Thorin had failed to find a gift, seemed to adopt the strangest patterns during the night. Flat in places, ruffled in others. Thorin grinned to see that though his braid survived as smooth as when Bilbo last made it, it looked like the only survivor of a massacre. 

Though the lines that had appeared between Bilbo's brows over the years were still present, the cheeks and chin had a peaceful smoothness to them. The eyes and mouth utterly relaxed.

When Thorin last lived in Erebor, he would not have needed furs so early in the year, but now he was glad Bilbo insisted on them, saving the dwarf from admitting to himself that he had passed his 200th birthday. And the same furs that he watched fluttering on Bilbo's smooth, summer-tanned cheek with his every breath made waking up far less painful to Thorin's joints.

He frowned slightly at the fingers curled around a hunk of blanket on the edge of the fur. Were the knuckles swollen? Bilbo had never mentioned pain...

"Good morning."

Thorin's head jerked up, meeting green eyes that were both sleepy and pleased, and fingers that *were* crooked coming up to cup his cheek. Automatically leaning into the touch, he took a calming breath, reminding himself of his plan. Other concerns would wait.

Offering his smiling love a smile of his own, he shifted forward to kiss Bilbo's nose, grinning when it wriggled as he pulled back, tender hobbit fingers still warm on his cheek, "Good morning. And a joyous start to another year of your life."

Bilbo's eyes softened, the pleased light settling in, "That it is, my king." His lips curled up with a knowing wryness, "To what do I owe the pleasure of my busy husband still abed so late?"

"I wish.. to ask you what.. what gift would please you. What could I do that would feel like a present to you?"

Bilbo blinked a few times in confusion, the smile shifting to a worried frown, "Thorin.. You.. I love you. You do not need-"

Thorin laid a stroking finger over those thin lips to stop the denial, shifting forward to lay a single kiss on them before giving a reassuring smile, "I know I do not. But I.. would like- I also sometimes wish to give presents. To surprise you pleasantly," self-deprecation twisted his lips, "But the types of present I have always been taught to give," he pressed their foreheads together, "Do not speak to your heart."

The regret dulling Bilbo's eyes made him wish he had not begun this: he had never meant to make the hobbit guilty for being different; it was *Thorin's* failure to not have discerned what pleased his mate!

"*You* please me," it was Bilbo's turn to lay a finger on Thorin's lips to stop him from responding, "If... If you would like to give me something, then I would ask for.. a day." Thorin frowned, trying to understand and failing. 

"A full day where you are entirely mine. When Kíli and Tauriel married last month they ran away for a week. Glóin's wife kidnaps him regularly for a few days hidden wherever it is she takes him." 

Bilbo tilted his head to kiss what Thorin was honest enough to suspect was becoming a pout, "I know I married a king. And when we married, we had a kingdom in dire need, which we had to look after. And we are both busy people with important duties. But.. if you would give me a gift. I would have a day with you. Without anyone else allowed to interrupt. Without talk of our kingdom's concerns or our politics." For a moment the hobbit's eyes turned inward and smiled at some happy memory, "Food, smoke, sun. Perhaps a fire. Nothing but relaxation and the simplest pleasures."

Thorin could see it. Could remember the gentle rolling hills of the Shire and its cheerful people calling offers of tea and food to each other as they crossed paths. He even remembered seeing a fellow laying under a large tree with his head against the trunk and a pipe puffing slowly. His could not see himself there, but he could see Bilbo. He smiled slowly, "A day with me. That is.. certainly a challenging gift to create." Pleased with the success of his plan, he leaned in for another kiss to the nose that had just snorted quite rudely, then moved down to lips that were smirking.

\-------------------------

Bilbo was the picture of contented bliss. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his thumbs caught in the pockets of his best waistcoat. He had everything they would need; the picnic basket was packed with food. Pipes and weed were in there too, as well as a bottle of wine he had been saving since their wedding, years before. 

The only remaining piece required walked into the sitting room. What made Bilbo smile brightest was what was missing: Thorin was crownless. Except for a few more silver hairs, and a couple more beads braided into it, the dwarf looked much as he did when he rudely assessed his now husband in the foyer of a cozy hobbit hole on a spring night that threatened rain. And the dwarf's eyes lit up when they landed on the hobbit.

Thorin could not help but smile at the picture his husband made: pretty as ever in his elegantly fussy hobbit clothes. He took this time to take his hobbit in his arms and kiss him right down to his soul.

When he finally came up for air, the words he spoke came from his heart, "Happy Birthday, Bilbo."

The sound of his name on this glorious creature's tongue made Bilbo giddy and light in his head. He took a step back and straightened his waistcoat, ignoring the fact that his deep regard for his husband was becoming apparent by the swelling in his trousers. He looked at the time on his pocket watch before depositing it on the mantel. "No need for that today." He held out his arm, "Shall we?"

Thorin took up the basket in one hand, his love's arm in the other. "Lead on."

Bilbo, near fit to bursting, took one step, then another, and the consort to the King Under the Mountain led his lord and lover out into the bright sun of late September, for a day that was just the two of them.

\-----

Thorin laid back on still-thick grass, basking in the sun gilding his spread mane and so utterly relaxed that Bilbo could not help crawling onto him, laying his head over the slow-beating heart, an un-armoured arm rising to lay across his hips.

Thorin brought his other hand up to cup Bilbo's head, brushing silky curls back away from sensitive ears and the soft, pale neck. And he placed a kiss on that still-smooth forehead. Bilbo's smile was positively beatific; he was the very picture of bliss.

Feeling that lazy kiss, Bilbo thought to himself, 'You are finally getting the concept of leisure, my beautiful dwarf.'

They snoozed that way until a small cloud dimmed the sun and woke Thorin. "Am I an acceptable bed, then, my hobbit?"

"Oh, very," Bilbo yawned and carefully stretched, not quite willing to relinquish the feeling of warm life under him. "Fall comes quick this year. Will you make a fire in a bit?" He rubbed a hand lightly on Thorin's chest, petting him, lazy and content, feeling an equally slow nuzzle at a temple, "We can even warm our wine. I brought some spices in case the day felt appropriate."

"Aye. In a bit. I'm getting rather fond of this relaxing thing you hobbits do."

Bilbo kept his comment at that to a snort. They might lean more to drinking and carousing than laying in the sun, but he knew as well as Thorin did that dwarrows relaxed as well. It was only their king who had needed reminding.

For once it was *Thorin's* belly that growled and forced them to follow through on their plans, sending Bilbo snickering after the food basket to get his dwarf a sweet treat to tide him over as they took their time setting up a picnic, feeding him bits of honey cake and some of the last strawberries of the season without letting him rise.

Of course, slow hobbit fingers found themselves being nibbled as well. Mustn't waste any crumb or bit of juice, after all, Thorin smirked to himself, remembering hobbit grumbles at sloppy dwarven eating habits.

Once lunch was eaten, the afternoon was spent lounging by the fire, with clothing appearing and disappearing at various times. Snacking, smoking, and discussing the best poetry. Which led to a discussion -"Yes, it was a discussion. We both presented arguments. Therefore it was a discussion. No matter the volume of the voices, or the swearing involved. Or your underhanded tactics."- on the relative merits of Sindar and Khuzdul. A vigorous discussion.

In which Bilbo found himself conceding after Thorin recited verses which the hobbit was QUITE certain were on a romantic theme. By the end of which Bilbo very nearly finished in his trousers, his lips parted in awe and faintly aware that his eyes had to be glazed over. And that Thorin watched him with a pleased grin.

As much as Bilbo thought to wish for a rematch, laying naked and sated in dwarven arms some time later, he had no faith that he would do any better at resisting his husband's deep voice speaking such heartfelt rumbles. ..Perhaps he would simply ask Thorin to recite Khuzdul *without* the discussion.

Then evening fell, and the spell of flame reflecting on skin set fingers oh so gently skimming over cheeks, jaw and beard, murmurs of sweet tenderness making breath catch and soft laughter ghost over eyelids and ears. Until eventually Bilbo snuggled himself between the knees of his seated husband who never seemed to get cold, watching the flames as lips lazily nuzzled, again, his now suspiciously excessively messy curls.

\------------

And when the blessed stars of Elbereth Githoniel lay strewn across the heavens, and the fire had burned down to mere embers, Thorin and Bilbo walked back to the front gate of the city, hand in hand, passing only the occasional soul who wished their king and consort a good evening. 

Up in their rooms, they took a late night bath, slowly, sensuously, and then to bed where they made love until they were nothing but wrapped up limbs and gentle snores. In the morning Bilbo thanked Thorin for the best birthday ever.

And no better day was ever spent. Though many other days off were negotiated over the many long years that followed.


End file.
